One Trillion Dollars

by Andreas Eschbach

  “Yes, but before you come I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Nothing comes for free in this world,” Marvin sighed. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Do you remember my pocket watch?”

  “Your pocket watch? No. I could’ve sworn that you never had one.”

  “I had one, but then I pawned it in Manhattan. The problem is that the pocket watch was a gift from my dad, but I lost the pawn ticket, and the retention period runs out next Friday.”

  That was a bit too much for this ungodly hour in the morning. “Slow down, dude,” Marvin said. “I gotta write this down. He pulled a pencil from a cup half filled with cold coffee, wiped it off with a sticky dish cloth, and then took an empty corn flakes box from out of the garbage can and tore it apart so that he had something to write on. He put the phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’m back. Now, one thing at a time. Where is the pawnshop, what does the watch look like, and how can I reach you?”

  After John finished the phone call with Marvin and returned to the sun deck, he could already see the thin gray-brown line of southern France’s coastline on the horizon. A steward was setting a table underneath an awning for afternoon coffee. Seagulls glided majestically in the air.

  “We must decide if we’re going to make port in Nice or Cannes,” Eduardo said. “There’s a fine restaurant in Nice where I’ve always wanted to have dinner. What do you think?”

  “Why not?” John went over and joined him by the railing. Since yesterday evening they had sailed around Corsica and were now cruising through the Ligurian Sea. It was a calm journey. The Mediterranean Sea lay there glittering silver-blue and made no waves that the ship’s stabilizers couldn’t handle. “Sounds good.”

  One hour later a dark object appeared in the sky that was not a seagull but a helicopter. First they ignored it. Yet as it got louder and headed straight for them they couldn’t resist the urge to take a look.

  “It seems to be the press,” Broussard informed them over the onboard telephone. “There is a man hanging out of the back of the helicopter with cameras equipped with long lenses.”

  John’s expression soured. “I suppose we have no flak on board?”

  The helicopter flew around the Prophecy like an angry wasp. At times the chopper made such daring maneuvers that everyone wondered how the man taking photos at the open door in the back didn’t fall out. After a while either the rolls of film were full or the fuel tanks empty; the helicopter flew away towards the mainland.

  “Should we even continue; go to the restaurant I mean?” asked John while looking after the chopper. “Without bodyguards?”

  “A few crew members look pretty impressive. We could have them come along,” Eduardo thought. “Hey, you’re not going to let them ruin our day, are you?”

  “It’s starting to get on my nerves. What the hell do they find so interesting about me?”

  Eduardo laughed. “You are rich, so you’re interesting. Money makes a person sexy, which, by the way, you’re not taking full advantage of.”

  “Should I?” John looked at the coastline, with the roads that had been boldly built along the cliffs, and the sprinkled white specks of the houses.

  “Listen, John, there’re tons of women who would like to know what it’s like to sleep with a trillionaire.”

  “Won’t be much different than with any other man.”

  “Sure, but let them find that out themselves.” Eduardo grabbed the onboard phone. “I see that you still need lessons about how to enjoy life. I will call the restaurant now, have them send us a car. From what I heard only millionaires eat there, so I bet they’ll how to keep the press away. And then we’ll be able to enjoy ourselves.” It sounded like an order.

  There were already a handful of reporters standing on the pier as they made port. Incredibly, by the time the Prophecy was properly moored, the handful had grown to a mob. The four biggest crewmembers on the ship had to work hard to clear a way to the waiting car. There were even TV crews among the pack.

  The driver, besides knowing the area well, seemed to be a former racecar driver. At least he drove like one. He sped through the streets like a maniac and eventually managed to get rid of all the pursuing press people. Only the journalists on motorcycles kept pace, and he got away from them only by sheer luck; their car sped through a changing traffic light barely within the speed limit. A police car at the intersection kept the motorcyclists from running a red light. As they drove up to the restaurant everything was quiet, and the sun was promising them a beautiful evening on the terrace.

  The restaurant belonged to a luxury hotel. It was old, refined, exquisitely furnished and decorated, and offered a divine view of the bay. It was a place where it was impossible not to enjoy your dinner, John thought.

  John noticed four older gentlemen sitting at a table next to theirs, and without a doubt they were lifelong millionaires. But what astounded him was that they managed to do exactly what he thought would be impossible in such a beautiful setting; they didn’t enjoy themselves at all! The white wine wasn’t the right temperature, the meat was too tough, the vegetables a bit mushy, nothing was good enough for them. One of them raised a finger to his frown-wrinkled chin and within thirty seconds there was a waiter by his side. God in heaven, what had become of the world? John didn’t understand any French, but to judging even by the deliberately understated manner of their complaint there was no need to understand the language to recognize their dissatisfaction. As he glanced around the restaurant he discovered others with the same attitude, nitpicking over their food. There might be nobody but millionaires eating in here, but not a single one was enjoying themselves, and John would venture to bet that despite the superb food no one else was even in a good mood.

  “Peccato,” Eduardo uttered. “I guess that’s an example of what you don’t want to become.”

  “Indeed,” John agreed. “If I should ever turn into one of them,” he told his friend, “then do me a favor and shoot me, please.”

  Midnight. As John closed the door to his room he considered the fact that this might be the last night he would spend under the Vacchis’ roof. He took off the blazer, hung it on a coat hanger and enjoyed the feel of solid ground under his feet again.

  They hadn’t dallied long in Nice and returned to the yacht after having dessert and watching the sunset. The journey back to Portecéto was a short one, lasting only four hours at full speed.

  He was about to take off the yachting shoes when the phone rang. Maybe Marvin, John thought and went over to answer the phone. It was just after six p.m. in New York now.

  But it wasn’t Marvin; it was the stranger.

  “I want to congratulate you,” he said, in a sarcastic voice, “on your new yacht.”

  “Thanks.” John wasn’t impressed — the man had probably seen it on television.

  “A nice yacht. May I ask how much it cost? I’d guess twenty million? Or was it thirty?”

  “What do you want?” John asked in a surly voice.

  “Give you some advice on what you could buy next.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You have a yacht and you have a house and obviously you could buy other residences anywhere in the world, but you already know that and I don’t want to bore you with such observations. However, I could suggest something more unique, like a castle. There are countless old castles in Europe and lots of them are for sale. Did you know that? Of course, you’d have to invest millions more to make them comfortable enough to live in, but that’s hardly a problem for you. Another way to invest and to draw attention to yourself is to buy a soccer team or something like that. Have you thought about this yet? You could buy and sell players for millions to get your team up into the top league. Or you could collect things, like old oil paintings, for example; van Gogh, Picasso, Monet — the names everyone knows. Another idea: collect old jewelry or antiques. Not only would it be a bit of fun finding things worth collecting, but then you’d have to hire guards and buy safes and get insuran
ce and stuff. Lots of things to do.” The stranger paused. “Do you need any more ideas?”

  John rubbed the top of his nose. He was tired. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “To draw your attention to the fact that you are rich enough to be able to buy knickknacks for the rest of your life. But with this behavior you’re only running away from Giacomo Fontanelli’s prophecy.”

  “You call me at midnight just to tell me this?”

  “You weren’t there earlier, and someone had to tell you.”

  “What are you trying to accomplish? Why this game of hide and seek? Why won’t you tell me who you are and what you want?”

  A short pause. “Believe me, there will come a day when you will understand that I had to do what I’m doing. Provided you don’t break our deal, we will meet one day and I will explain everything. Otherwise you’ll ask yourself for the rest of your life what it was that I had to tell you.”

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  “You’re moving, right? I’d like to suggest you give me your new phone number.

  The phone suddenly felt moist in John’s hand, or was it him, sweating? This would be an opportunity to get rid of the stranger: just give him a false number. Real easy.

  “There is one more thing you should consider, John,” the dark voice said. “I am the man who knows more about you than even you know about yourself. I know what your true task is. I know how you can accomplish it. If you are tempted to break off contact do so only when you are sure that you will never need to ask me about the prophecy.”

  Endless silence.

  This was a trick, wasn’t it? John stared into space. He saw nothing and knew even less what he should do. It could well be a trick, but, on the other hand, what’s the big deal? He could change his phone number anytime if he needed to.

  John pulled the nightstand drawer open. On top was the letter from Hopkins Junior College, then a begging letter from an endangered species charity. He must’ve stuck it in his pocket by accident. He finally found the letter from the phone company. “Okay,” he said and had to clear his throat. “This is my new phone number…”

  Eduardo talked John into going for another cruise on board the Prophecy. When Eduardo showed up at the agreed time he had a girl with him.

  He introduced her to John. “This is Constantina Volpe. We studied law together in the university. I hope you don’t mind that I invited her to come along?”

  John stared at Eduardo. It was quite clear from his shit-eating grin that his plan was to hook John up with the girl. He looked at her; she was a lot easier on the eyes than Eduardo. It was hard to believe that Eduardo knew women like this. It was hard to believe that women like this studied law, instead of becoming top models and earning a fortune from their looks. Constantina had long black hair and the breeze from the sea blew the long strands into her face as she stood there. It was a heart shaped face with large green eyes and luscious lips. Her figure could have stopped a train. John had to clear his throat before he could say something, and then he could only utter an awkward “Welcome on board” and a clumsy “Pleased to meet you”.

  The crew also ogled her. A few might have been drooling. The steward, who brought champagne as a welcoming gesture, could hardly keep his eyes off her. The captain left the bridge just to say hello to Madame Constantina, his strong French accent even more pronounced than normal.

  The Prophecy left the port and anchored in the mouth of the bay off Portecéto, close to the picturesque cliffs jutting up from the sea, where seagulls and other birds were nesting. A Jacobs ladder was let down from the backboard side along with a slide, and a diving board was mounted jutting out over the water. A warm, relaxed day on the sea could begin.

  John was naturally quartered in the main cabin, which was all the way to the front of the yacht, and he had a corresponding long way to go. That’s why he wasn’t surprised to see Constantina already dressed in a tiny black bikini and sitting on a towel rubbing tanning lotion on her smooth skin when he got to the sundeck. He did wonder what was keeping Eduardo.

  “Would you be so kind and put some cream on my back?” she asked as she looked up at him, making him feel like a clumsy schoolboy, despite his wealth.

  “Yes, sure, of course, yeah!” Was that his voice? Whatever. He took the bottle that she held towards him and started to apply the white cream on her back.

  “Please, under the straps too,” she said. “Should I undo them?”

  “No,” he shot out. “I’ll manage.” He enjoyed going underneath her straps with the gooey stuff. How far to the side could he go before he reached a breast? Where was Eduardo?

  The sun was burning down on them, and the universe seemed to melt together on the gleaming white deck as he touched her skin and smelled the lotion.

  “Thank you,” she said at last. “And now you.”

  John was thankful to lay on his stomach as she rubbed his back with soft yet firm strokes. He had to stay on his stomach for a while longer after she was finished. Luckily, Eduardo finally showed up and drew her attention away from John, who stubbornly remained on his stomach a while longer.

  Later, they went down the ladder to get into the water, slow and careful because the water was cold enough to take their breath away as they climbed in. But then it was wonderful to swim in with the mysterious depths below, the sea stretching far beyond them and the gleaming ship above.

  A half an hour later they were slithering down the slide, screaming and shouting like children, and then Eduardo made the first dive from the board.

  Later they were lying tired on their towels upon the hot deck to warm up from the chilly water. The anchored ship swayed gently up and down with the waves soothing them into a wonderful state of sleep and numbed awareness. The hot sun felt good, warming their skin. Nothing mattered anymore, no wealth, no prophecy, nothing but this wonderful day, this content existence, the warm soothing sun and the seagulls calling out high above them in the endless blue sky.

  “We also have water skis on board,” Eduardo said suddenly startling them out of the peacefulness. “Does anyone feel like water skiing?”

  “No thanks,” Constantina mumbled lazily. “Nothing strenuous for me.”

  “Me neither,” John murmured, who had never water skied before in his life and never even considered trying.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Eduardo said and got up.

  His idea got the crew moving, and the sudden activity chased away the general peace on the ship they all had enjoyed. The larger of the two motorboats was freed from the tarpaulin and heaved into the water with the davit. The water skis and the ropes were put into the boat, and soon it was speeding over the waves as it pulled Eduardo after it gliding over the water on the skis.

  “Are you a lawyer too?” John asked trying to start a conversation now that they were awake and alone.

  Constantina swiped hair from her face and smiled. “To be exact, I work as a junior lawyer with the DA. I suspect that Eduardo is keeping in touch with me, hoping to get first-hand information from the enemy.”

  John didn’t agree with her suspicion but said nothing, mainly because he couldn’t think of anything smart enough to say.

  “A nice ship,” Constantina said after a while.

  “Yes,” John agreed nodding, “It really is.”

  “It’s so nice to be out here and to have the sea practically all to ourselves.”

  “Yeah.” He felt like a buffoon.

  As if to get John out of his awkward situation, the steward suddenly stood there with the phone and explained: “A call for Signor Vacchi.”

  They got up, jumped, and shouted to draw Eduardo’s attention. They finally got the boat to go alongside the yacht again. He seemed to guess what the call was about, because he took it with a troubled expression.

  “Pronto!” he said and listened for a while. “And where is he now?” he asked and then said, “Ah, I understand. No, don’t do anything. I will come as soon as po
ssible.” He handed the phone back to the steward, then told John and Constantina: “I’m terribly sorry, but I must go to Florence. One of our few cases, actually our only problematic case, with probationary requirements and so forth. I must see to it right away.”

  “Too bad!” Constantina said. “It’s so nice out here now…”

  “No, no, of course you can stay here,” Eduardo hurried to explain. “The motorboat can take me to Portecéto. It’s not so far. I’ll go and get changed.”

  John felt suspicious as he looked after Eduardo going below deck. That just sounded like so darned rehearsed. That conniving little…

  “That’s just an excuse!” John hissed at Eduardo a short while later as he went down the ladder.

  Eduardo grinned from ear to ear. “Shush,” he said and then added, “Be a good host now.”

  And the boat roared off towards the coat. John looked after it with an odd feeling in his loins as if they already knew more about what would happen than he did.

  After the boat was no more than a tiny speck, John sat back down on the towel and avoided looking at Constantina. She sat there too he saw from the corners of his eyes, leaning forward on an arm. Her breasts looked full and round in that position.

  “It’s pretty hot in the sun. Don’t you think?” she asked with a soft voice that didn’t sound at all like that of a future DA’s.

  “Yes,” he said dully. “Pretty hot.”

  “Could we go in for a while?”

  “If you want…”

  It was nice, cool, and downright dark in the salon after being out in the bright sun.

  “Would you show me around the ship a little?” she asked him.

  “With pleasure. What would you like to see?” John thought showing her the bridge, the machine room, or the galley.

  Constantina looked at him with her big eyes. “I would love to know how your cabin looks like.”

  So that’s how it works. John only nodded and went ahead. His cabin, his stamp collection; could he be hooked-up so easily? They went through the long corridor to the front going over carpets, past panels made of burl wood, and under gold-plated lamps. All paid with the same money that made him so sexy now. But maybe it’s only his imagination. Weren’t men programmed to see in women’s behavior what they wanted to see? It was he who thought that Constantina was sexy, just like any other healthy man would. And now he was interpreting all sorts of things according to her behavior. . It would be better for him to get his feet back on the ground and act like a normal person.